Death is worth dying for
by Joey Liptapanlop
Summary: Thomas Schneider- Williams, 006, is the polar opposite of James Bond's "over developed trigger finger", often lost in thoughts and spends too much thinking before acting. My first serious fanfiction. Suggestive themes and typical Bond-type violence
1. Asoke Soka

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything created by Ian Fleming/EON, such as the 00-section, M etc. They do not feature in this chapter (ha, just spoiled it for you) but keep that in mind for other chapters.**

This is the first time I'm publishing my fan-fiction, and my first attempt at writing something serious as opposed to a parody.

* * *

**The first cut is the hardest**

The lights flashing, blinding. The people walking, talking. The city was alive even in the late hours. The notorious traffic has died down somewhat. Rise in oil prices have forced some people to change their habits. Others have done it a long time ago. Tired of the traffic, they have decided to take the sky train.

He observed the beautiful lights of the city, sparkling neon lights keeping the city awake at night. An old man with thick white hair patted the seat next to him, offering him to sit. He pretended not to notice the man. He did not need a seat. He cannot take a seat. He would bounce right off with his body shaking. He wiped his hand against his pants for the fifth time since the last station, his pants beginning to soak in the sweat coming off his hand. Some passengers began to look at him, puzzled as to why he did not take a seat in this relatively empty compartment, and why he had to keep wiping his sweating hand.

While it is the faster alternative, the train seems to move too slowly and too quickly at the same time for him. He was sweating. The eyes that gazed upon him brought him back to earth. He took a deep breath and ended up sitting down next to the old man. The moment he touched the seat, however, the intercom buzzed to life.

"Next station, Asoke; interchange with MRT"

The word Asoke nearly knocked him off his seat. He patted the outline of his jacket. It's there. He rubbed his hand against his pants again, and felt the train slowing down; too quickly, too slowly. The train came to a stop and simultaneously the intercom, like a judge at the end of a case, announced the station "Asoke".

"A" is a prefix in Thai, a negation. "Soke" comes from the Bali word "Soka" which means sadness. "Asoke" therefore means the absence of sadness. This station had irony written all over it, but then again, maybe not.

_Does this man have a family? If so, someone will be sad by the end of the night. If not then it will really be Asoke_

He realized that he was simply trying to distract himself. The beeps began to sound, the doors were closing. A small part of his mind told him to stay in the train and let this all slide. But what for? This is what he has come here to do. He had to sit in a plane for twelve hours, got cheated by a taxi on his way to his hotel and woke up with a killing hangover this morning. He had come too far to turn back. He lunged at the door, knocking a fat tourist entering with a small Thai woman over. He did not turn around to apologize. The fat tourist turned around, ready to drop an F-bomb but the doors have already closed.

Virtually alone on the platform, he took a deep breath and reached to tuck a comma of his dark-brown hair into its place. He started to walk down the stairs, his ticket ready to be returned. The walk was steady but when he approached the ticket machine, the thought of inserting the ticket into the machine froze him. It resembled stabbing someone. His hands tremble and it took several attempts for him to finally insert the ticket into the machine, catching the attention of the security guard. He noticed the guard walking towards him but luckily the ticket was in and he was on his way out. He smiled at the guard, who stepped back. He followed the pathway to the appropriate exit and down another path of stairs.

And there he was, standing at the entrance of Soi Cowboy; one of Bangkok's many red-light districts: a symphony of brothels, a circus of cheap prostitutes from impoverished backgrounds, looking to satisfy a "farang" for cash to send home. With nearly fifty bars to look into, this was going to be a long night. He looked at his watch: a few minutes to midnight. He would rather get this over and done with quickly. The hangover from the morning has not entirely died off yet. Only then was he beginning to feel a little stupid about last night. He thought drinking last night would somehow help him with this night. In the end, five martinis, two screwdrivers and three vodka shots only gave him a massive headache, as if his head was placed in the center of a collision involving two high speed trains.

He looked around. He was too impatient to search every bar. He asked himself what kind of a bar would his target be found in? Certainly not a cheap one. He was about to make his way into an expensive-looking bar when out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a familiar woman. She may be short, dark-skinned with dyed hair like the rest of the prostitutes around the area, but he recognized her from a photograph that was taken of his target with her last night. Surprisingly she was walking towards one of the cheaper bars. He followed her into the bar, with the women, and the ladyboys, at the gate staring at him.

The club was filled with a smelly air of sweat. A young man, probably gotten in with a fake ID, stumbled past him on his way to throwing up after having too many drinks. The music was pounding like a giant fist into everyone's heart. He did not let the young man distract him, and kept his eye on the girl who approached the bar. She told the bartender something, probably to order a drink. He quickly walked up and stopped the bartender.

"I'll have what she's having" He instructed, winking at the girl. The barman nodded and he took the empty seat next to the girl. She was looking somewhere else.

The barman reached into his bar and handed them a bottle of Thai beer. He cursed inside, beer was his Achilles' heel when it comes to drinking. He could never stand the taste, despite it having the least effect of any alcoholic beverages. At least now she's noticing him. She looked at him, up and down, then looked away. She was by no means pretty, but he had to get her attention.

"Two hundred for beer" The barman called for his attention. He raised his eyebrow. That was way overpriced, but he had to do what he had to do.

"How much for hers?" He asked, causing her to turn around to face him again

"Free. She works here."

"Capitalist pigs" He cursed inside as he handed the barman the money. He turned to her. She raised her bottle, a sign inviting him for a conversation.

He did not put his wallet away. Instead, he slipped her a five-hundred baht note.

"Not enough. I do 1000 per night."

"I don't want your services. I want your information. Where is he?" He slipped out a photo taken of her with a man. He was tall, with slight short, curly dark hair with tiger-like green eyes, which looked rather thin compared to his enlarged jaw and his fat nose. He body was ripped. He looks to be in his late thirties. Her presence in the picture meant there was no denying that she knew where he was. She could pass it off as having seen him a long time ago and having no idea where he was, but the date at the bottom-right hand corner says it all: last night.

But why? Why did she need to tell him where her last customer stayed? The money in her hand, though, got the better of her. Her customer did not seem like much harm, neither was this man. But she could also make this a win-win situation.

"I tell you outside. Too loud in here."

She told the barman that she would be right back and that he would not have to pay the usual bar fine of taking a girl out before closing time. The barman gave the man a dirty look, which he ignored. He followed the girl.

As they step out of the door, she slowly slipped her shoes off. It would be hard to run with high-heels. She did this very slowly so that he would not notice. First her right, pushing it against the door. It stuck a bit but after a little shake the shoe broke free. She then reached her bare right foot to the left…

A cold sensation suddenly hit the back, a small but chilling poke on the small of her back. She turned around and was horrified at the sight in the man's hand: a pistol with a silencer screwed firmly on it, his finger on the trigger.

"Nice try" He whispered with a smile. She quickly reached inside her pocket for her Swiss knife which she has always kept in case of an angry customer or an incident with foreign prostitutes, which have resulted in several deaths by shooting or stabbing in recent years due to an increase in Eastern European prostitutes operating in Thailand. She has never been in one of these incidents, but hears about it on a regular basis. Was this man one of the Eastern European pimps looking for revenge for her stealing a customer from one of his prostitutes? Couldn't be. She has barely had customers in the past few weeks. And what does this have to do with her previous customer? But reasoning was useless. The fact was that he has a gun pointed at the back, and she needed to do something.

She grabbed the knife out of her right pocket, switched the blade on, turned around and lunged the knife at his right shoulder, hoping to cause him to drop the gun without killing him, which might get her into a fair bit of trouble; sparking revenge, which will end up getting her killed. Even doing this, she might be signing her death sentence. He would probably be back to kill her.

Her thoughts stopped with her knife. Not by the muscles and bones of his shoulders, but by his left hand, clutching her fist with cheetah-like speed.

He shook his head like a parent knowing a child was making up lies for coming home late. Her eyes filled with horror. She was dead.

"All I want is his address"

"Westin. 1204."

He left her wrist go and put his gun back, but not without taking her knife.

"I'm sure 500 baht will get you a decent replacement" He said, and disappeared into the bright lights of the red-light district.

It was a relatively short walk to Westin hotel, but the walk seemed to have taken longer than the sky train. His hands were sweating again, this time worse as there was no air-conditioner, just the open tropical Bangkok heat which still burns you even at night.

Since he was wearing a jacket the hotel staff didn't question him. He got into an elevator and pressed the button for the twelfth floor. The doors were about to close when an Indian couple snuck in at the last moment. He cursed inside. He wanted to be alone, but then again, maybe not. The man, with a white turban, pressed the button indicating he was staying at the top floor suite and smiled at him, as if to show his status. He smiled back, relieving his tension somewhat as the elevator ascended with the soft music accompanying the low hum of the moving machine.

He closed his eyes, imagining the tall frame of his target, probably coming out in some sort of sleeping gown if not boxers thanks to the Bangkok heat. Or maybe he's outside. He knew what to do in that case too. He would break into the room and wait. At least that might give him some time to cool down too. What if his target is in there with another prostitute? What if his target has already checked out and flown back? The kind of business his target was in was not one that called for being in the same place for a long time. How would he react if a different face answered the door?

The elevator slowed down and before he could answer that last question, the door opened.

"See ya" whispered the Indian woman, out of courtesy rather than being sincere. The doors closed before he could say anything, but he was not planning to anyways

This new thought hit him like a bullet train. The last that anyone has seen of his target was last night. Twenty four hours is a long time in his business. One could technically be on the other side of the world by now.

He started the walk towards the room and was there before he knew it. The way the rooms were placed, he only passed one door before reaching 1204. This is it. He looked to the left, then to the right to make sure there was nobody. He looked up and found no security cameras. He decided there and then he would show up to his target empty handed. If someone else answered the door he could just apologize. If it was him, the target does not know who he was and he would still have the time to get his job done. He reached out for the doorbell and pressed it.

He waited patiently. Surely if his target was in his room he would be sleeping and would take some time to answer the door. Suddenly a soft beat started in his ear, it grew louder, and louder until he felt he was at a concert where the drummer was on steroids. He could not establish where the sound was coming from. It could have been from the construction site nearby. It could have been the sound of his own heart trembling in anticipation.

It never occurred to him that the beats were the footsteps of the target until the beats stopped and the door opened. The face that greeted him was an exact match to the photo he was given. The target was taller than him by quite a bit and was indeed only wearing his boxers. Those tiger-like green eyes were groggy. He was probably woken from a very deep sleep. The logic worked. If he spent last night with the prostitute and assuming he was alone tonight, he would be in a very deep sleep.

The job.

He reached into his jacket, his hands almost shaking, and produced what he has been keeping under it since the start of the night. He had not even touched it after putting it there, only tracing its outlines occasionally to make sure it was there. But this was it. He reached out and produced a silenced, fully loaded, safety unlocked Walther P99.

A thought crossed his mind: Did he actually unlock it?

Those tiger-like green eyes sprang to life, like a tiger ready to attack its nearest victim. The tiger noticed the hesitation and its animal instincts told him to live. Adrenaline shot to his arms, the tiger slapped the pistol out of the man, the victim. The victim's eyes too grew, in shock. The tiger had two choices, launch its fist at the helpless victim or reached for the gun, now on the floor, closer to the tiger, and give the victim a taste of his own lead.

Unlike the victim, the tiger did not hesitate. He dived straight to the floor, right hand reaching out for the handle of the shiny pistol. The tiger felt as if its hands were magnetic and someone the pistol was being pulled into its waiting hands. It knew the victim was still shocked.

It was shocked.

It was shocked when a stinging sensation suddenly erupted in his heart. It realized it only started its descend down to the pistol. Both of its feet were still on the ground and it was only leaning slightly forward before it was stopped by a knife. A cheap knife. A knife that only someone like a prostitute would possess, having brought it for a bargain price at some black market. Nevertheless, a knife that got the job done.

He wanted to let go, let the target, the tiger, and now the victim, fall onto the floor. He wanted to run. He knew where the elevator was. He wanted to get in, press the G button, run out, into a sky train- no, it was closed at this hour, into a taxi then, straight to Suvarnabhumi Airport and out the country. But he can't. The job was not finished yet.

He thought that the little monologue just now would keep him distracted until the victim's heart stopped beating. He was wrong. The eyelids still moved, still the last part fighting for its survival. But a bigger concern emerged in the form of his target's blood, some of which have already flown down to his boxers and were on its way to hitting the carpet. Switching his knife-holding hand to his left and using his slightly stronger right hand to carry the body, he tumbled his victim into his suite, using his right foot to shut the door. The door would not shut. It was held from shutting by the pistol which he dropped.

He let out a soft four lettered word and he reached his foot back to kick the pistol into the room, allowing the door to fully shut. When he turned back, the first drop already hit the floor and diluted the carpet.

Another four-lettered word, this time a bit louder. At least he was lucky the door to the bathroom was opened. He lifted the body up- no easy task, since the target was larger than him- and placed it- no, threw it- into the bath-tub.

He looked at his arms and thought he saw some stains of red blood on his jacket, something wet on his hands. He blinked. It wasn't there. If anything, the wetness on his hands could only be described as his hands sweating. But it was indeed getting hot. He took his jacket off, and, in what he felt was a ritual honoring the dead, placed it over his victim's face.

The face which he had only seen one photograph of, three days ago.

This was the face of "Thomas Bleeck" they told him. "Australian soldier who served during the Gulf War turned human trafficker, specializing in children sex slaves. Normally we would have him arrested, but he supplied services to several high-ranking members of the British and Australian governments and has threatened to expose their identities should he be arrested. Until then he could blackmail them with anything. For the sake of our national securities- Britain and Australian- we need him eliminated."

He knew it wouldn't be the last time this face of Thomas Bleeck would appear. It would come back to haunt him in his sleep. For the first cut, as the song goes, is the deepest, and the first kill is the hardest. The first cut is the hardest, in his case.

The lifeless Thomas Bleeck stared at him, confirming his fears. _I will come back to haunt you_, it said.

He undid the buttons of his shirt and walked back to the living room, then the bedroom, to make sure nobody else was there. He picked up his phone and called for the cleanup team, stationed in his hotel to get over and do their thing. He picked up his pistol, flicked the safety switch back on and placed it on a table. He'll let the cleanup team take care of it too. He did not use a single bullet, but at least the knife got the job done. Thank you Russian prostitutes.

In the victim's bedroom, he found his wallet, Thomas' wallet. Some power led him to open it even though he was not supposed to. He had to know.

And he found it. In the transparent pouch, a picture of Thomas with a woman. She leaned against his chest, smiling. They both were. She was much shorter than him. She had dark brown hair like him but her eyes were blue. Her face was rounder as opposed to his angular face. She skin was slightly lighter than his and her smile a little happier. He kept looking at her, because he did not want to look at him. He did not want to say sorry to him even though he deserved it.

But his face spoke, again _"I'll never forgive you. You'll never forget me"_

He closed his eyes, shook his head and looked at her again. Maybe she would accept his apology. It was useless asking for a dead man's forgiveness.

He had no idea who this woman was. His wife (which would explain the tropical setting behind them)? Girlfriend (which would explain they she held on so tightly)? Sister (which would explain their certain similarities)? She looked too old to be his daughter and too young to be his mother, but he did not rule out those possibilities either.

He carefully took the picture out and flipped it. On the back, in a girly handwriting he found the answer.

"Natalie" a heart "Thomas always" it was written in black ink, and probably slipped under the pillow as some anniversary, Valentine's, Christmas or birthday gift.

So someone would be feeling "Soka" in a few hours.

"I'm so sorry, Natalie" he whispered as he slipped the picture back into the wallet and closed it.


	2. Those who can, do Those who can't, die

**Those who can't, teach**

_Two days later…_

The half moon's reflection set up a perfect atmosphere on the river Thames. It was late and there were very little people walking around with the exception of a few lovebirds and homeless people.

The silence was broken with an ear shattering roar of an engine. A black Ferrari, driven like a horse, drifted down the ancient walkways before turning onto the Vauxhall bridge. It was shortly and closely followed by a Porsche Carrera. The Porsche, as if injected with some drugs, caught up with the Ferrari and bumped onto its side.

The Ferrari's driver tried to gain control but the moment she turned the wheels, half of the car have already crashed past the barriers of the bridge. Seconds later and the car was half submerged in the river Thames.

Three minutes ago, both cars were parked somewhere near the Odeon Cinema in Leicester Square, with bright lights flashing, the night full of glamour and stars. The crowd were in anticipation. The Queen was attending the premiere of some spy film. Fans line up behind the fences in vain hopes of getting autographs or pictures from the stars. The press were also pushing and shoving to get some last minute interviews as the actors and the directors line up.

All was suddenly silence, or at least quieted down as the Queen's motorcade pulled over. Led by two motorcycles, her car was greeted by quiet applause as she waved to the audience. The applause grew as more people noticed what was happening. Some started cheering.

Somewhere in the crowd a woman watched on. She did not join the applauding crowd. She would not conform. She never has been a conformist, she has always been a rebel, and the rebel inside of her brought her here today.

She pushed and shoved her way to the front of the crowd to get a clear shot at the Queen. She managed to find her way to the very front lines (if there were any lines that is) despite some bad words whispered behind her. She was equipped and ready to take a clear shot at the Queen through the window of the Queen's car.

One of the fans looked at her and her equipment, then another. She should not be here. Too late.

_Snap._

"Hey, the press goes over there" a policeman guarding the road walked up to her and said

"Sorry" she smiled and pushed her way out

At this very exact moment the Queen's car pulled over, oblivious to a small blipping device blinking on the side the photographer was previously at. It was the size of an eraser, but placed so near the fuel tank, a small explosion from this device would rip the car apart.

Three hundred meters away, the photographer placed her camera on the ground and took out her iPod. A touch to play button brought the small gadget to life, another touch to the centre button would end many lives, but most importantly, the Queen's, who was stepping out of the car.

The photographer herself was blown away, unexpectedly not by the sound of the explosion of the Queen's car. That never happened. It never will. The iPod in her hand though was in pieces on the ground before she could react. The soft wind of the approaching winter hit her face, frozen cold with the realization that she had failed.

She had failed. Somebody had intervened.

The silencer of a pistol touched her back.

"I'd finish you off right now, Miss Harrison, but we don't want to cause a scene now, would we?" A voice whispered, a strange but familiar tone attached to the mention of her name. She looked around, there were still a group of people scattered, some walking towards the premiere, there was a group of teenagers walking around, and at least three pairs of lovers enjoying a late London stroll. Doing anything drastic would not be helpful. Making a scene would do neither of them any good. She obliged and began walking, the gun behind her guiding her way towards where her car was parked.

She looked around. Maybe it would be alright for her to make a scene. He had more pressure not to do so. If she could hit the panic button on her car remote, that might catch some attention, distract him, give her time to run away, maybe after knocking him down.

_Wait, it's too risky now._ She waited until they were about five meters from her car. She moved her hand slowly, reaching into her pocket.

The remote appeared, not in her hand but in front of her. The man with the gun at her back held it out.

"Looking for this, Julia?"

She turned around, knowing they were not out of the range of people yet. Even with a silencer, he would not dare shoot her at this point. It would make too much of a scene.

Julia's brown eyes were greeted with another brown pair, slightly above hers. She was surprised it was him. It took a few moments for his face to register in her mind. It must have been - what? Six months? A year?- since she last saw him, an average, compared to others, student during her tenure as a teacher of bomb diffusion. She never expected him out here, doing the job for the place she used to call her second home, but now ready to literally, shoot her in the back.

He, on the other hand, remembered her the moment he saw her picture shortly after he arrived back from Bangkok. Unlike the others, "Miss Harrison", as he had so diligently called her as a student, was a very young teacher. In fact, he would not be surprised if she was actually younger than him. He even found her attractive at points. What a way to test your ability to kill in cold blood, he thought; send someone out to kill their teacher who happen to be very good looking too. Suddenly, though, he saw her in a different light, a light that he could never have seen before. Her brown hair and her shining, lively eyes registered something in his mind. She looked a lot like someone.

Natalie.

His mind, without question, withdrew from the current setting and took itself back to the wallet, the picture. The main similarity was the hair, the colour and texture were almost identical, but there was also something with the face that reminded him of Natalie.

_Damn it! Focus!_

He closed his eyes to chase the thoughts away and when they were opened, they were staring at the ground, the silenced Walther P99 he held on so firmly a moment ago lay in front of him. He could hear fast footsteps fading into the distance and looked up to see Miss Harrison running towards her car.

He got to his feet quickly, grabbed the gun and headed to his Porsche Carrera parked nearby. Starting the engine, he cursed, again and again at how he managed to yet again let a clear shot get away from his hesitation.

He was temporarily blinded by a light of green, a small spot of green that flashed into his mind. Thomas Bleeck's tiger-like green eyes.

_You've hesitated again. This time, you don't have a cheap knife to save you._ Bleeck's pale white face, sitting in the passenger's seat told him.

"Shut up!" He screamed, fisted the passenger's seat, then realized that he was alone in the car and although it was started, it was still parked right where it was. Harrison's car, on the other hand, was disappearing from his view.

The roads of London parallel to the Thames lay in silence compared to the glitter and glamour that greeted the Queen at Leister Square. The concrete roads lay in smoothness in contrast to the cobbled sidewalks.

Trafalgar square's night was interrupted with a sudden screeching of tires, first from the black Ferrari, then from the silver Porsche.

He was panicking. This was not what he had in mind when he parked his Porsche near the theatre. It was supposed to be simple, stop Harrison for firing the device in the first place, escort her to his car and take her out. If only he found her earlier…

Both cars took a turn and entered the road that ran along the river Thames. The tires screeched as their roaring engines woke up Whitehall and could be heard all the way to the Prime Minister's residence as they passed the Downing Street corner.

Like a tourist in a tour he could see the iconic Parliament Square coming up in the distance but he did not care. He stepped on the pedal until it could not be stepped on anymore. A funny sensation of an adrenaline rush when one is sitting kicked in; a funny sensation because though one knows that adrenaline has kicked in and that adrenaline makes one want to run, jump and shoot but yet one is in a car, so all that could be done was to step on the pedal more. But he stepped on it as far as it would go.

He did not even know what to do next. Obviously he had to catch up with her but then what? He could try to ram her car but not only would that cause a scene, but it would be such a waste of two 

beautiful and very expensive cars. He could try to get next to her and take her out through the window, but that would not be easy if she was expecting it. Shooting her tyres? That might work.

He took out his gun, rolled down the window and stared down the pistol before firing. A shot goes just wide, then another. By the fifth shot the closest he got was hitting her license plate. He was one of the best shooters, but only in the practice field. It was different to do it while driving, he realized. It was said that men cannot multi-task.

And he nearly learned it the hard way when his car brushed past a lamppost just as he emptied his last bullet. He cursed and turned the wheels back on track and tucked the gun away. But then they have passed Westminster and were in front of the MI5 building. He allowed himself a small smile at the memory.

They approached the Tate museum of British and Modern art which have closed at this time of the night, but during the day is usually packed with tourists who have come to enjoy the exhibits. He did not care. He has never been to the museum and probably never will be. He took his last art lesson at the age of fourteen and was glad he did not have to do it since.

She too did not care about the museum, or any of the historic sights they have passed. All she needed to do was get away. She decided that she would turn at the next bridge and cross over, hoping to lose him if only for a while. She hit the pedal more to make him think that she was heading straight.

He was tailing her. He had taken his foot off the pedal slightly since that near collision to the lamp post, but still made sure he kept the distance so when she sped up he did the same.

Then suddenly, her car seems to disappear and all he could see was her backlights flashing from the Vauxhall Bridge.

Out of instinct rather than reflexes, his grip on the steering wheels tightened and he spun it to the left. The silver supercar reacted immediately and spun itself. Coming in at nearly 200 kilometres per hour, it felt like he was going to be thrown out of the window. He realized that although his grip on the steering wheel was as tight as a clamp, his was a sweaty clamp and the car's turn was a bit wider that he would have preferred. He went into the opposing lane and was lucky there was no car coming from the other side. For a moment his mind was not on the Ferrari but on simply getting his silver beast back on track.

When he did, he heard a thundering low bang of two metals colliding, accompanied by a small earthquake.

By the time he turned left, there was a gaping hole on the side of the bridge. He did not even hear the Ferrari crashing into the water below. He was too occupied with a thousand thoughts, the main one being "this is not a good way to avoid causing a scene". He slammed the breaks on the battered Porsche, and although the crash had already taken the speed off it somewhat, the car still came to such a sudden halt that his face nearly hit the steering wheel and he had to spread his hand out to stop himself from being thrown right out the front window. He slammed back into his seat.

Normally this would be a time to take a big sigh and possibly call the insurance company, but his business was not finished. He opened the door and stepped out, took a step then realized he forgot his job. He stepped back to and reached for his pistol and a spare cartridge. He pressed a button to 

release the finished cartridge before hammering the new one in. He started to walk again, his heart all but hoping that the crash had already killed her so that he would not have to do what he had to do.

She disappointed him as he could see her slim figure climb out of the sinking Ferrari, which was quickly sinking into the bottom of the dirty river. He sighed, and reluctantly loaded his Walther P99.

He stood on the edge of the bridge, on the edge of the gaping hole the Ferrari made and looked down. She freed herself from the door, thankful that she did not have the time to fasten her seatbelt. She looked up. Even though they were too far away and it was too dark, they knew they were both staring into each other's dark brown eyes. She did not continue to stare, however, as she began to swim towards the side of the river they were just on.

Julia Harrison, he was told, defected to join the anti-Monarchist league about a month ago. "Little is known about this league except for its obvious purpose, to eliminate the monarchies around the world. We suspect that they are left-wing extremists." She planned to kill the Queen. She was guilty of high treason. She needed to be eliminated…

…but he could not do it. He had the gun held up, her head in sight, but he could not pull the trigger. It was as if some invisible force was holding back his right pointing finger from a simple muscle move.

Flashes of Thomas Bleeck's lifeless body and the picture of Natalie entered his mind. Julia never told him about her background. Their relationship has been strictly educational and professional, but he was almost certain she had a family, or at least a boyfriend. A beautiful and talented girl like her could not possibly be single. How would they be informed? That she was killed by one of her own students? Oh, they will probably make up some _lie_.

She was getting closer and closer to land.

Sweat began to take over his forehead. He closed his eyes in an attempt to clear his mind, but when he opened them all he could see was an image of a struggling woman. She may have betrayed the country. She may have tried to kill the Queen. But she was a living being, a daughter, probably a girlfriend, or wife, maybe even a mother. She was his teacher.

With one stroke away from reaching the land, she looked up at him. He stared at her, the pistol nearly slipping out of his sweaty hands. She set one foot on the ground. _Pull the damn trigger,_ he told himself, _it is your damn job! She's a traitor!_

He couldn't do it. He couldn't do it because he knows her, because she was his teacher, because she was so damn beautiful.

_Hurry up, you wanker, before people see you, before she gets out, before…_

A single bullet to the head, right between the eyes, sealed the job. She looked at him, a hint of disbelief in her eyes. Disbelief that a student would shoot his teacher. Disbelief that one of her weaker students would come this far. Disbelief at what her ideals have cost her.

She seemed to take forever to fall back into the river, or maybe that was just his mind playing tricks on him. The scattered group of people who were frightened away from the crash started to walk 

towards the bridge to see what was happening. In the darkness he knew he would not be spotted, and these pedestrians would be taken care of. They would probably be interviewed and have to sign some documents swearing them to secrecy. He did not care. It was none of his business anymore. His business was done.

He watched, long after her lifeless body sunk back into the Thames. Three hurried breaths were followed by one long one, then another. He finally got a grip of himself and started walking, then picking up speed, back to the car. He called the cleanup team as usual, then stared out the window to the shiny towering structure that stood above him, overlooking the iconic river. Plated with windows and what appeared to look like gold, the place exhibited a modern air. Tomorrow he would walk into this place a different man. After two years, he was ready to take the next step. Two years of training he did not have to do, that have failed to help him at all in the past few days. The past few days have been such a mess. He had killed a man who he knows will haunt him for the rest of his life. He has just killed his teacher. Both of them had a life, they had families and friends. The man had a lover and the woman probably did too. He told himself that he has done the right thing. One was inhumane, making money out of selling lives for perverted services, the other conspired to destroy the pillars of the very land he stood on. He should take in this moment and he did. The jobs have been done. The requirements have been fulfilled.

Thomas Schneider-Williams smiled. He is now Agent Double-O-Six of Her Majesty's Secret Service.


	3. FNG

FNG

Williams opened the door leading into his boss' office, still feeling groggy having gone to sleep so late last night. He could not even call it night because he did not tuck himself into bed until three-thirty AM. Tucking himself into bed itself was an understatement as he fell asleep on the couch, too tired to even get to his bedroom. Luckily the meeting was scheduled at nearly noon. His last thought before going to sleep: eleven minus three thirty gives seven and a half hours of sleep. Good enough.

The woman he knows only as 'M' did not even pay attention as he shut the door. She had his back to him and was pouring herself a drink. He could see that she was only pouring one glass.

"Sit down, Schneider-Williams" She stated coldly and he obliged without question. He looked around the place, filled with many books, mainly on law. There were compartments with files on people he has never heard of, but also files labeled "00". He allowed himself a smile knowing that his dossier now sits in that cabinet. On the wall there was a picture of an old man who he assume was either her father or the predecessor.

He was too lost in thoughts to notice that M has already sat down and was coldly staring at him.

"Give me one reason why your name should be in there" She said, indicating the compartment labeled "00"

He heart sank. He thought that at Harrison's demise he would automatically become a Double O. Was there more?

"Your nearly got yourself killed by Bleeck" Oh, _that name, that face_ "and we had to tell the press that the damage on the Vauxhall bridge was part of a sequel to that movie premiere you spoiled. The only reason I'm not preaching to a grave is because of pure luck. You were lucky Bleeck slept with a woman who had a knife, and that she thought you were going to kill her. You were lucky Harrison decided to blow the Queen up later than she was instructed."

While he was nearly thirty centimeters taller than her, he felt as if her eyes were actually gazing down on him. He wished he could shrink.

"There is no room in our business for hesitation, nor is there room for luck."

"I got the job done" He has never sounded so unconfident since the first time he asked a girl out

M sighed "That you did. Like it or not, you completed two kills in cold-blood. I don't like how it was done but I have no other choice. You got the job done. I have to promote you, but don't think for one second it is going to be easy. I know your history, Double O Six" That was the first time anyone apart from him referred to him by his codename

"You were born into a rich and conservative German-English family. At age eighteen you were holding an offer from Oxford University and graduated second in the City of London School's class of 1989, and then you just decided to leave it all behind and run away from home."

Williams was slightly upset at all this. He did not need someone who he met for the first time to be doing a psychological analysis on him.

"My father…" he tried to explain his decision

"… was badly injured by an attack from political extremists when he was the head of the BfV" the Federal Office for the Protection of the Constitution in Germany, where his father used to work. The name came back to him like a nursery rhyme he has forgotten.

"One could say you ran away out of fear." She concluded

He sat in angered silence.

"And fear has clouded you since. You purposely failed your exams in Sandhurst until the Gulf War was over and was enlisted the day it ended. You refused to fight in Kosovo and asked to move to reconnaissance. At the onset of the Iraq war you asked to be transferred to MI5, where you spent your hours behind a desk, and now… you nearly got yourself and the Queen killed because of your fear to act. Well let me tell you , unless you shorten that thought process of yours, I, unlike you, will not hesitate to remove you. Is that understood?"

Like a child in his principal's office, he nodded "Yes, ma'am"

"Go and take a walk around and see how lucky you are to be here. That might help you the next time you ask whether you should do what you need to do." She took a sip of her drink and started to examine a field report. He knew he was dismissed but his legs were so weak he had trouble getting up. He dragged them along to the door and got himself out.

Watching the relatively empty corridor, he was distracted by the feeling of a presence from his right.

"So, did you get the 'Don't think you can do whatever you want here' talk or was it the 'Welcome to MI6, you're not gonna last long here' talk?"

Williams looked at the man, puzzled. He was wearing a blue open-buttoned shirt. His short dark hair allowed Williams to see a few scars on his face. He was smiling, probably glad to see a new recruit, but it did not look like he was surprised about Williams' arrival at all. Williams himself though was still puzzled by the question, both because of the colloquial way it was asked and that his 'talk' did not fall into either category.

"Gary Simpson. Double O Nine." The man held out his hand which Williams lightly took but was greeted by a enormous pat in the back that felt more like a slap.

"You must be our FNG"

"FNG?" Williams asked

"Fucking New Guy. It's an American term. I flew with them during Kosovo, before I transferred here from Air Force. You?"  
"A… Army"

Simpson gave him a thumbs-up before putting his other arm around Williams' shoulders

"You have a name, army boy?"

"Thomas" it has become a name he now dreaded, because of the man it reminded him of.

"That's gonna be a problem. You see, our Double O Three is also a Thomas. Common name isn't it?"

He nodded, regrettably, but at the same time glad that they would probably give him a new nickname. He did not like Tom either.

"We'll just call you Tommy for now then" _Great…_

"Let me give you a proper introduction of the Double O Section"

They walked past a tanned brunette woman in workout clothes, a towel on her shoulder and an energy drink in her hand, with headphones on. Williams could tell she was heading to the gym, which he has not seen yet. Maybe he would ask Simpson for an introduction to that later.

"That's Double O Two, Silvia Vultier. Don't ever get on her wrong side. She's officially got the hardest punch in the secret service."

Williams took it with a grain of salt. She did not look all that dangerous, but he knew he did not have any experience to back that up. They passed a room with a shut door although, through the window they could see a blonde man staring into the emptiness of his laptop.

"That's Double O Seven, our newest recruit before you. You won't believe what the guy did. First mission, he goes and falls in love with this bird from the treasury, turns out she was working for the enemy. Then he went out for a revenge rampage and… he's been like this ever since." Williams did not like the look of this man, he looked very rugged and had violence in his face and from the way he started with his piercing blue eyes into the emptiness, Williams knew he probably would not become friends with him.

Next was a room with a large window instead of a wall, basically a transparent wall. Inside sat a gorgeous blonde-haired woman, enthusiastically looking at the computer. She wore glasses. Her body was just a little over perfect but that was fine, for her excess gathered at her larger-than-usual pair of breasts that appeared to be aching to burst out of the red blouse that covers them.

"That's Johanna Johansson, on loan from the Swedes. Isn't she a hottie?"

Williams nodded in agreement

"Too bad she's a… you know…"

Williams gave yet another puzzled look to Simpson

"You know what I mean"

"Married?"

"No! Lesbian!"

"Oh"

They passed an open door next, with a woman taking some documents from the cabinet. She was slim and had a hybrid of blonde and brunette hair.

"Eliza Thatcher, Double O Eight, our biggest workaholic. First present at any briefings, never present at any parties. I wouldn't be surprised if she's still a virgin"

Williams raised an eyebrow and they both chuckled. This guy certainly knew a lot.

Suddenly, Simpson's phone rang. He took one look and did not have to pick it up.

"M needs me. Don't get lost, will you?" Simpson did not even wait for a reply as he started his way back where they started.

Williams stood there for a while, watching his new friend disappear into the corridor.

"And that would be Gary Simpson, our resident gossip king. Last present at any briefings, always present at any parties."

Williams turned around and it took a while for him to register that he was facing the woman he saw taking some documents out of the cabinet just now. She had green eyes and, unlike Simpson, was not overexcited to see him, but she still looked friendly.

"Eliza Thatcher, Double O Eight." She offered her hand which he took. Her touch was soft which made it even harder for Williams to imagine this woman out in the field

"Thomas Schneider-Williams, Double O Six and apparently 'FNG'", he purposely took some time to pronounce the last three letters

"Let me guess, Gary told you I'm some workaholic who is probably still a virgin"

He nodded shamefully

"Only half of it is true" she winked and he smiled back diplomatically. They stood in silence for a while, her realizing the awkwardness her implications have placed on the conversation, him trying to think which half is true and pretending not to look like he was thinking

"Look… just try to stay away from him. The guy digs for gossips like an armadillo, and yet he never tells you anything. All we know is he is dating some economics teacher."

He was glad she broke the silence

"Thanks for the heads up" he smiled, sincerely this time.

More silence. He knew it was his turn to break it.

"So… how long have you been here for?"

"Long enough to know the type that just wants to get into my knickers"

Another awkward silence. He did find her attractive and she seemed fun to talk to, but her response stunned him.

She laughed

"I was playing with you"

"Oh" he joined the laughter with relief "You got me"

"Seriously, though, four years, approaching the age where the usual Double O gets killed in an assignment."

"Are you playing with me this time?" He asked with a tone of seriousness

"No. I got bored one day and did an average of every Double-O's age of death minus the age where they start. Turned out to be five years, three months and nineteen days"

"Now I know when to retire already"

She laughed again

"Sadly it's the annoying ones that increases the average. Your friend Simpson's been here nearly seven years."

"Any other average raisers I should be aware of then?"

"Too many to name right now. I've got to go send this report to Station F." She held up a bound booklet in her right hand. He took a look at the booklet which obviously did not have anything useful to read. The cover only included "Attention Station F" and a "For your eyes only" stamp. What he did not see was Gary Simpson, finished with his briefing, smirking from behind Thatcher at the prospect of some new gossip.

"How about we meet up sometime and you can talk me through them?" He asked on a whim. He regretted it immediately. He was looking for a friend, not a date, but it sounded otherwise.

Thatcher thought about it, then opened her mouth to answer

"So… is there something you guys want to tell me?" Double O Nine announced his presence, jerking his two colleagues out of their conversation. Williams stood there, not knowing what to do. Thatcher frowned and turned around

"Oh, sod off, Simpson"

"Easy, Eliza. I'm actually glad to learn that _now_ you do have a social life. Good for you." That line had sarcasm written all over it

"As a matter of fact, I do. What about you, Simpson? Anything apart from screening corridors looking for the latest buzz on who's dating who?"

"I'd love to stay and run through my list, but I'm afraid I'll bore you to death. Besides, M wants you."

Eliza looked at the report in her hands then looked at Williams

"Do me a favor and give this in to Station F, thanks" Williams took it without asking questions, despite having no clue what- let alone where- Station F is.

"Ask me again when he's not around" she whispered as she patted her report. She started to walk towards M's office, but not without giving Simpson one last dirty look.

"So… it looks like you've got a thing for our workaholic virgin. Maybe you'll be the one to pop her cherry."

"Oh, no, no. She's just offered to give me some more information about this place."

"Of course" more sarcasm "You're not gonna go off and sell those information are you?"

"Of course not"

"We wouldn't want you to follow in your predecessor's footsteps now would we?"

"I'm sorry?"

Simpson was getting frustrated at how naïve this new recruit appeared

"Go read up on the history of your number, will you? Let me give you a hint, one of your predecessors died, then turned out to be very much alive and nearly laid London to dust."

"Oh" it wasn't his fault

"Anyways, I leave for assignment tomorrow morning."

"To where?"

Simpson shot him a gritty look

"If I tell you, I'd have to kill you" what a clichéd line, but said with such seriousness that Williams actually fell for it

"Oh…"

"Come have a drink down at the pub with me tonight. Rule number one: Never leave for assignment without a drink. Rule number two: Never drink alone."

Williams thought about it. Chances are Simpson would be hoping he would be one of those type who would spill anything once they were drunk. But then again, he was the first guy to come up and talk to him. For all he knew, Simpson might not survive his new assignment.

"Alright, sure. On one condition"

"What's up?"

"Please show me where Station F is"

By the time Thomas Schneider-Williams showed his new friend his flat near Russell Square, Gary Simpson has given up any hope of digging any more information out of the new recruit. He instead focused a downing a few pints of Budweiser. Williams had a few Long Island teas, but nowhere near enough to even get him dazed.

Williams' flat was the ultimate bachelor's pad, with solitude clearly in his mind. There was no reception room. One was immediately greeted with a couch and a television with a few DVDs lying around. Tucked into the corner is a mini-gym, with some workout equipment. The kitchen was miniature, as its owner rarely used it. In fact, only the fridge and the microwave looks used, everything has only been touched once in a blue moon. The bedroom contained nothing but a single bed and a closet. Efficiency was the name of the game in this place.

The two men sat down and played some multiplayer rounds of some spy game on Williams' barely functioning Playstation 2.

"So what's the deal with M? Is she always this stiff-arsed?" Williams asked as they waited for the game to load. Simpson laughed

"Not always. You just caught her on a bad day. When I first got here I actually got a very nice talk. She offered me a glass of Bourbon, praised my track records and congratulated me for my two clean kills. I suppose your kills were not exactly clean"

"No. Not really." He replied as, ironically, his generic secret agent character shot Simpson's fat Korean character straight in the head.

"Try to crack some jokes every once in a while. If you catch her on a good day it might help."

After a few more hours Simpson decided, at two AM, that he best get some sleep as he was due in the airport in three hours.

Williams sat in silence when the door shut, contemplating the possibility that, like his game character, Simpson may never return, then returned to the same game and played through the single player mode.

Once he died his third death, he decided he has had enough and fell asleep on the couch. Again.

_He stood alone, and the wind was vile. The green grass under his feet danced along with the wind, in a dance of death. The trees surrounded him. There were no pathways out of the circle of trees. He looked around, suddenly afraid. The trees were not closing in, and the wind blew hard, but he felt trapped. He looked up to the sky, the clouds suddenly covering up the previously bright day. He looked down and right ahead of him, staring back at him, was a well-crafted stone. He took a step closer and squinted his eyes, both to prevent the sand from getting in but also to focus on the inscription._

_Thomas Bleeck, it read._

_He was frozen. There they were, two Thomases facing each other. He was mesmerized by the tombstone, aware of what was underneath. He looked down and realized he was holding a rose. Not a red rose of Valentine's day, not a white rose of a funeral but a metallic black rose. He knew what to do. He bent down to slowly place the rose in front of the grave._

"_You killed him, didn't you?"_

Williams woke up with the sound of his mobile phone vibrating on the table in front of the couch, next to where his joystick lay. He lay there until the phone fell off the table it lay on. Cursing, he took the phone in his hand to make sure it was alright, then answered it.

"M wants you in her office" said the secretary

"Now?"

"In thirty minutes"

He hung up and looked at the phone's clock. It was nearly noon. He decided it was fastest to take the tube. He stopped at a coffee shop in front of his flat where some university students gathered to get a quick brunch which he finished even before boarding the underground.

Passing all the security checks took a bit longer than usual, but he was still on time. When the elevator opened at his floor, he was greeted with Eliza.

"Hello again" she greeted him with a smile

"Hello again" he replied

"Date with the old lady?"

"Yes. You?"

"Thought I'd visit the rifle range" which explained the absence of the formal blouse

"Happy hunting"

"Thanks. If the old lady gives you a mission, best of luck."

Funny how people wishes others good luck, Williams thought. True, sometimes luck comes into play but it takes much more to survive a mission, if he was even going to get a mission.

"Cheers" was all he could say

They switched places as she got into the elevator and he made his way away from it. Suddenly a 'ding' came from the elevator and the door opened before it could completely closed.

"Oh, by the way"

He stopped and turned

"Thanks for taking that report down to Station F"

He smiled back

By the time he reached M's office the smile was gone. Their first encounter yesterday, he gathered from his conversation with Simpson last night, was less than friendly.

Williams shut the door behind him softly but loud enough to announce his presence. The lady was sitting behind her desk looking through more reports.

"Sit down, Double O Six" she told him without even looking up.

Once he sat down, she scribbled her signature over a dotted line. He was tempted to peek over in an attempt to guess what her real name was, but was afraid she would find out. The signature was short, so he figured out she may have just written "M" anyways. She tucked away the report, pressed a button on her computer which opened the picture behind her and brought a hidden screen to life, showing a map of Scandinavia. The image, as if knowing that Williams had registered where this was, zoomed in to the Gulf of Bothnia which separates the lower halves of Sweden, to the left, and Finland, to the right.

"Eight hours ago, a routine check with our survey submarine HMS Natalie returned answered"

He froze, the image of the name returned to him; that night in Bangkok, last night, where was she now? It is evening in Australia. She could be sitting at an empty dinner table where Thomas used to be. She might be in a grave next to him, having committed suicide after him.

"Are you alright?"

"Sorry. What happened to it?"

"We suspect it to have been stolen. Had it sunk we would have had a mayday signal."

"But it's just a survey ship. Why would anyone want it?"

"Because it _is_ just a survey ship, it has no defenses. Modified by the wrong hands, it can used as a nuclear submarine."

"So where do we start?"

M pressed another button, showing a list of the crew on the ship.

"The submarine's last stop was in the Finnish town of Turku. A Finnish interpreter was supposed to board the ship, but called in sick that day with food poisoning. It may or may not be connected to the disappearance of the ship."

The screen flashed the standard ID page. He was captivated by her face, even if it was an ID shot where nobody ever looked good in. She had dark hair and very dark brown eyes. Her shaped of her face was more on the square side of the spectrum than the circle side. She had long, thin lips and even thinner eyebrows.

"Emilia Martinviita" M read the name out for him, "She lives in Turku and had a part time job as a ballet instructor"

He decided that he would take Simpson's advice about humor right about now

"There are many things I would do for Queen and Country, M, but learning ballet is not one of them"

She frowned slightly more (if that was even possible) and decided to ignore his quip. She handed him a file, naturally sealed and only with Emilia's name on the cover.

"You will most likely find her at her ballet school. Your flight leaves for Helsinki this afternoon."


	4. Reindeer stew

Finland

The flight from London to Helsinki-Vantaa International Airport took just over three hours and was one of luxury as Williams indulged himself in business-class in-flight entertainment, snacks and two Screwdrivers. He knew it would be different once the flight touched down at the second terminal though. Waiting nearly an hour in line at immigration, kept accompanied by the tunes in his iPod, he finally was officially in Finland.

Williams proceeded to the Hertz car rental sign. He stood for a few seconds when a sales representative came up to him, not the cute receptionist at the desk but a tall blonde Finnish man.

"The sun always shines in Northern Finland"

"Only in winter" the man replied with a soft but strong European accent

"Unless you've drank way too much Finland Vodka" _who actually comes up with these things?_

"Follow me please"

The tall man led Williams into the car park, secluded from the other cars in a far corner lay a Mercedes Benz. Apparently it was the most often used car in Finland, so he would have to ditch the Porsche for subtlety's sake. Actually, the sleek black machine was not that bad. At least it had a socket for his iPod.

After signing the paperwork and being given the keys, Williams stepped into the car and turned it onto the highway heading towards Turku. At least the car had cruise control so he could relax a bit. He was tempted to step on the accelerator but was reminded that this was his first time in Finland, and thus it was better to enjoy the landscapes rolling by. In a way it was like England, only icier.

Turku came into view after almost two hours. The city was nearly as large as Helsinki. It was in fact the old capital of Finland, believed to have been settled since the 1200s, making it Finland's oldest city and it was Finland's largest city until 1840, when Helsinki took over both as capital and the largest city. In the old days, the word "Finland" simply referred to Turku and the area around it. The region's current name, "Finland Proper", is a tribute to Turku's glittering and important past. Turku is known as the cultural and economic capital in modern day Western Finland. The city is also known for being Finland's official "Christmas city". Every Christmas eve at noon, a declaration of Christmas Peace is read. It was a practice done every year since the Middle Ages, the only exception being in 1939 during the Winter war when the Soviet Union invaded Finland. It has since been nicknamed Finland's "gateway to the west" due to its location next to the Gulf of Bothnia. After the Iron curtain fell, many Russians came to Turku to open their eyes to Western business practices. President Vladimir Putin was among them.

Williams pressed a few buttons for the GPS to tell him where to go. After driving around the shopping area, he noticed the ballet school he was looking for, tucked away in a corner. A few blocks later he ended up at the corner he was looking for, a giant Holiday Inn sign up high.

Williams (luckily) quickly found a place to park his car when a young couple got into their blue Audi and left a space in the parking lot. With the help of a porter he found himself at the reception in a few minutes. He approached the desk with a placard saying "Deutsch", where a young blonde with glasses and tied back hair welcomed him with the obligatory smile.

"Guten Abend mein Herr, wie kann ich Ihnen behilflich sein?" she was very fluent and he could tell she was probably actually German

"Mein Name ist Alexander van Basco, I habe eine Reservierung" his considerably fluent German was a result of his past, but he was not planning to dwell in it. He lay his right arm on the desk as the receptionist typed his name into the computer.

"Ja… Herr van Basco, Ihr Raum befindet sich auf dem dritten Stock" She handed him the key, in an envelope labeled "302".

"Vielen dank."

He almost started walking when he remembered about the package.

" Wenn ich mich nicht taeusche, sollte hier ein Packet fuer mich bereit liegen" _I believe there's also a package waiting for me_

" Einen Moment...da ist es" the package was a standard box one would expect to have come from eBay. It was rather heavy, but one could not tell what was inside by shaking. He took it, anticipating the weight.

"Geniessen Sie Ihren Aufenthalt" she wished him an enjoyable stay

"Vielen Dank, Nadja" he noticed the nametag the moment she was typing his name into the computer. She smiled at him, for real this time, for noticing her name.

Room 302 was a modest accommodation in such a luxurious chain hotel, with a single bed and enough space for bags and a bathroom. Williams threw the package onto the bed and decided to shower. He removed his business suit and stepped into the shower. The water's warmth reminded him that this place was colder than what he was normally used to. Anything short-sleeved he brought was rendered useless there and then. Drying himself with the hotel's towel, he slipped into a long-sleeved navy blue shirt and cream-colored trousers.

Williams opened the curtain and looked out the window. The afternoon was dying out, but the streets were still busy, mainly with shoppers. He could see shops such as Zara right from his window. He looked at the clock and decided that, if he hurried, the ballet school might still be open, and if not, his stomach was calling for dinner anyways.

He tore the package open. Taking out the foam, a piece of paper fell to the floor. His attention was diverted as he bent down to pick up the piece of paper. It was a short note.

_We need Martinvitta alive. These may come in handy if she proves to be resisting. _

_M_

Williams returned his attention to the package which revealed a small pocketbook "Instant Finnish". He looked through some of the phrases he thought he would need, practiced a few of them, then realized how screwed he was if this Emilia could not speak English.

Next in the package was two shiny objects, one he noticed immediately. It was a sleek, black Taser gun. He gripped it in his hands, getting used to the new non-lethal weapon. He then lay it down gently on the bed and picked up the larger, equally sleek but white device. It looked like some kind of a monitor with a wire and a clip attached to the end of the wire. It took him a while to figure out that it was a mini-electronic polygraph machine. There was also a note underneath. He picked it up. It was from the Quartermaster and had instructions on how to operate both materials. Williams already knew how they both worked but read it anyways in case he missed something. He did not. He decided to leave the polygraph in the room's drawer.

He slipped on his holster, thought whether he should take his Walther P99 with him. After nearly a minute of self-debate, he slipped the pistol under his pillow and hung the "Do not disturb" sign on his door, before closing it and hitting the streets, with his Taser inside his holster, covered with a black leather jacket. In his car, he practiced those few Finnish phrases out loud again, not knowing whether it was right or wrong at all.

Williams forgot that most ballet schools actually were opened at night, so it was little surprise that the Karkkainen ballet school has just been opened a few hours for their night classes. He stopped his Mercedes right in front of the school and walked in.

It was clear that the lessons themselves took place the floor above, as the bottom floor only contained the reception, a number of trophies on show and even more pictures, mostly of a few people, celebrating or just dancing. He recognized Emilia in many of these pictures as he approached the receptionist, who was too busy chewing gum and playing a game on her mobile phone. He had to clear his throat to catch the tall blonde's attention. She looked up, after pausing her game, and still chewed her gum.

"Where can I find Emilia?" he asked

She shook her heard in confusion

He sighed, it was time to dig up that Finnish class he took, literally a few minutes ago from the book they gave him.

"Mistä voisin löytää Emilian?" he asked, very slowly, afraid to get a single phrase wrong.

"Ruisrock" He had lost her attention completely by then and she was back on her game.

"Ruisrock?" He asked, but she was already sucked into her gaming world. At least he managed to gather that she was not there. On his way out he noticed a stack of brochures. After browsing through a few he found the one he was looking for. Thankfully it was in English too.

Williams sat in his car and read for a few minutes until a car pulled over behind him and began honking. Regular customer, he gathered. He pulled away and stopped a few blocks further at what he gathered was a typical Finnish restaurant. It took a while for a waiter to notice that he was not looking for anyone and that he was there alone, when he was finally shown a seat in the corner.

"Vodka martini" he ordered. He was never actually a fan of dry martinis, but since he was in Finland, he figured they would serve him Finlandia vodka, and he might as well take in the Finnish flavor.

Adding to that, he ordered Reindeer stew on potatoes, a quintessentially Finnish dish. It tasted strange at first, but he quickly grew fond of it. A rather delighting meal was unfortunately finished off with a disappointing desert: mountain cranberry jelly which Williams knew by its other name, Cowberry jelly. He did not like it one bit, and washed it down quickly with his second martini.

It was another drive, much shorter this time though, and Williams soon crossed over a bridge into the island of Ruissalo. Following the instructions on the brochure, he pulled over and stopped at Turku Conference Center. He paid five Euros for the parking fee as the brochure stated. It was still a considerable walk to get in. As he neared the source of the music he realized it was going to be a long night. It was still early yet he estimated people to be in their thousands. It was dark, too, and the music was not exactly music to his ears.

The pounding drums and the screeching distorted guitars pierced through his ears. Williams tried to enjoy it but after a new songs realized he could not. To start off with, he hated listening to things he did not understand, and it was way too loud, not to mention the screaming teenagers in the crowd and the foul stench of beer. So this was Ruisrock, an annual rock festival founded in 1970 and the second oldest rock festival in Europe. It attracts bands from Finland as well as international bands, especially Swedish and German ones. Williams was lucky the crowd was only in their few thousands, as the record high amount of people present was at 71,000. Even then, it was hard to keep his head on target and find a person whose face he has only seen once, in a photograph nonetheless.

Williams gave up. He decided to drop by the ballet school again tomorrow. At this point he would prefer to learn ballet than stay in this place any longer.

He started walking, right shoulder in front, going in the opposite direction of the increasing crowd, hoping the thumping beat would decrease in volume. It did not. He could see the fence approaching. He hurried his pace and almost missed the sight of six tall men crowding around the fence, all of them leaning in with a purpose.

He nearly reached the fence when he realized that they were crowding around someone. The light from the stage suddenly reflected and he could not have been mistaken. The shining hair which looked black at first- it took a few moments to register it as dark brown, very dark brown- accompanied the not-as-dark brown eyes. She looked even more lovely than in her photograph. She was considerably shorter than him and was wearing a black tank top and blue jeans, covered with a brown jacket. The jacket was only zipped halfway up, but he could tell that she was in a good shape as anyone would expect from a ballet instructor. Then he saw that she was with a friend, a taller blonde girl with scared brown eyes.

They were alone, surrounded, and in trouble.

Emilia Martinviita's eyes met his and called for help. He was already on his way but she continued gazing at him as if he was too late. He took in a deep breath. The men were quite intimidating, and there were six of them.

"Gentlemen, is there a problem?"

It caught the attention of only two of them, but the rest soon turned along with the two friends. Only now did Williams realize he missed two more and there were actually eight of them. The magnitude of the situation began to hit him. He has never been in an actual brawl, let alone one against eight very athletic Serbians. Even in the combat training room, he was up against five at most. At least he had the Taser with him.

Six of the eight men were taller than Williams and a few of them started to chuckle. They started to say things in Serbian, which Williams did not understand exactly, but could make out they were not taking him seriously, and why should they? Truth be told, even Williams himself was afraid. He just tried to keep his gaze up and could see the two girls slipping away.

That was until the shortest guy on the left stopped them and said something along the lines of "Where do you think you're going?"

The other guys began to laugh. This was his chance. He reached for the Taser gun

_But what if they ganged up on me? _

Now the two girls are surrounded by three of the Serbians, the shortest one along with two others. The 'head' of the group still faced Williams.

He said something in Serbian which sounded rude, then launched a kick straight for William's stomach. He barely had time to react with the absence of the light. In fact, he did not have enough. He kick struck him where it hurt the most. He could feel the reindeer stew about to come gushing out. His hand, on the Taser a moment ago, clutched his stomach as he rolled on the grass in agony.

The Serbs laughed, and two other Serbs began to kick him more. People started to look.

The kicks did not hurt as much as Williams was still hurting from the first one. It seemed like an eternity until the pain began to subside. He began to reach into his jacket for the Taser.

One of the two Serbs took a few steps back for a big kick. He rushed in, like a footballer taking a penalty kick. Williams turned and grabbed his leg with his left hand. The Serb nearly lost his balance but still managed a soft blow to Williams' face. Williams did not care. He took out the Taser with his right hand and hit the Serb on his thigh with it. The other Serb kicked him in the back but he did not care.

The Serb hit the Taser fell down and started to wriggle in pain. This caught the attention of all the Serbs, most of them rushing to him, except for the other one who was beating Williams up, who kicked the gun out of his hand and continued to stomp on him. Williams looked up and saw that the two girls were free.

"Run!" He shouted before another boot landed in his face. The girls didn't have to think twice and they fled. None of the Serbs noticed as they were either helping their fallen friend, checkout the Taser gun, or beating the living daylights out of Williams. It occurred to them then that he had just chased away his mission. How was he going to greet her tomorrow "Hi, I was the guy who you saw getting beaten up last night. I'm a secret agent looking for a missing submarine"? There and then the possibility that this new Double-O-Six's first mission could be his last hit him. He did not live all his life for this.

The head of the group, who was looking at the Taser, pointed the Taser at him. The men kicking Williams stepped away, afraid of what the shot would do. Williams looked up to see the Taser pointed straight at his heart. This might be fatal.

"Piste!" He suddenly heard, Finnish for "Stop"

The head Serbian looked up and so did Williams. Three policemen were standing, guns pointed out, Emilia and her friend by their side. The head Serbian, whose name Williams gathered from the conversations he had with his crooks was Janko, dropped the Taser.

Only then did the pain from the countless kicks take begin to register in Williams' system. He felt as if he was the midpoint of a collision between two full-speed train. His entire body felt numb yet in crunching pain at the same time. His lips, tasting reindeer stew and vodka martini a few moments ago, now tasted of blood. The reindeer stew came back to haunt him as he could feel it reversing up his throat. He thought he felt a tear running down his face but it may just be his cheek rubbing against the grass. The last thing he remembered was Emilia's friend giving him a gentle slap on his cheek to see if he was awake.

It felt like a punch.


	5. Emilia Martinviita

Emilia Martinviita

Strangely enough, when Thomas Schneider-Williams woke up, he did not feel as much pain as he expected. Sure, there were strains and soreness here and there, but he could be assured that nothing was broken.

His eyes slowly opened, slowly adjusting to the sunlight. The left corner of his eye was blocked by what appeared to be a giant wall but later registered as something much softer. He then realized he was lying on a couch, which means he could not have been back at his hotel. His jacket and his blue long-sleeved shirt was gone. He was instead covered by a blanket. He stared up at the empty white ceiling, then down to the clock. It was nearly 3PM. Suddenly his stomach trigged and fire endless waves of hunger. He slowly turned his head to the right, feeling the strain on his neck. What he saw was a table with a vase and a toy car. Behind it was a television. It was off. It seemed like nobody was home.

Williams slowly but his feet on the ground; right first, then left. The strain in his muscles started to catch up but he sucked it in and was soon sitting straight. Confident that no one was at least in the room, he let out a little groan.

The door suddenly swung open.

He did not know what to do. Standard procedures on a door opening in a unknown and possibly hostile place is to draw one's pistol, but his pistol was snuck under his pillow in his hotel room, and God knows what happened to his Taser. Right there and then he decided that he would not let go of his pistol ever again. But for now, all he could was sit there like a deer about to get run over by a truck.

Luckily, the truck turned out to be a woman holding a shopping bag.

"Oh, you're awake!" She said, and he suddenly remembered that this was the woman who was with Emilia at the rock festival. She was wearing a white coat which she kept on despite the room being considerably warm. It was clear that she meant no harm. He wanted to get up and help her with her groceries, but the strain began to eat up his stomach.

"How long was I out for?" He decided to ask instead

"Don't worry, it was just one night. Are you hungry?" She asked as she walked into the kitchen with her grocery bags. He wanted to be polite, but he could not. He actually suspected that he would probably still be sleeping if not for the hunger.

"I'm starving, actually."

"How does a sandwich sound?" She asked from the kitchen

"Great, thanks!"

"Make yourself at home, I'll be a few seconds"

Williams tried getting up and had to hold on to the couch for support at first, but eventually he made his way towards the kitchen where the woman had a foot-long Subway sandwich out in a plate. She looked up at him. The blonde hair he saw last night looked much dirtier with the sunlight reflecting on it. Her coat was off now and she was wearing a green top with jeans. She was actually very tall, a little taller than Williams himself.

"What do you want to drink? I've got beer, soda…"

"That's alright, I'll just get some water."

"Alright" She reached for a glass

"No, that's fine. I'll get it myself. Thanks for the sandwich." He got to the glass and filled it with water from the tap.

Williams gorged into his sandwich savagely whilst still trying to maintain as much of a gentlemanly air as possible. The woman did not seem to pay him much mind, which Williams found rather strange considering he was half naked, and began unpacking her groceries. A subway sandwich was by no means a good meal, but for Williams, who has not had anything to eat since that Reindeer stew nearly twenty-four hours ago, this was a feast from heaven.

The moment Williams down his glass of water, the woman shut the final cupboard with the last of her groceries. They turned to face each other and smiled, her at giving and him at receiving what turned out to be one of the best meals in his life.

"Thanks for the sandwich."

"It's the least I can do, you saved us last night."

He tilted his head, sinking in the compliment

"I'm Zara." She stretched out her hand

"Thomas" He took it. Her grip was soft and her skin even softer.

"I'm sorry, but where are my clothes?" He asked, and immediately regretted it; him being half naked, holding her hand in a handshake in a warm room was somewhat awkward.

"Umm… about that. You took quite a beating last night. There were a few stains of blood. It's probably better if you take my brother's clothes. We kind of threw your clothes away." She cringed.

"Sorry." She said with an apologetic face.

"That's fine. It's just a bit awkward being half naked in front of someone I've first met last night"

"Oh don't worry, when we patched you up last night, you were _fully _naked"

His eyes widened in shock. Even more awkward. She turned away, slightly blushing.

"Then whose pants…" he asked, inspecting his new blue jeans

"Those are my brother's. You can borrow his clothes, I suppose."

His mind suddenly reverted back to the mission.

"Where's Emilia by the way?"

She raised an eyebrow

"How do you know her name?"

It caught him a bit off guard, but he quickly and subtly improvised

"I was at her ballet school yesterday, just browsing around"

"Oh, alright" Zara was not entirely convinced that he would have recognized Emilia in the dark. Williams knew it was time to let his ego go.

"I'm interested in taking her ballet lessons"

"Oh, alright. Well, I'm free right now. I can take you there. Just let me get my keys, and my brother's clothes"

"Wonderful, thanks"

"I can just tell you're British, with your accent and your manners"

"Yes, well…" Before he could come up with some sort of a comeback, she has disappeared up the stairs.

Williams tidied away the plates and the glass just as Zara appeared with her purse over her right shoulder and her brother's clothes tucked in her right arm. It contained three layers, obviously to fight the infamous Finnish cold. He quickly put it on, and felt like an crossover between an astronaut and a wooly mammoth when he was done

"You live with your family?"

Oh no, this is my brother's place. I just broke up with my boyfriend so now I'm living with him. He's got a kid so I'm sort of babysitting, but the kid's at school now. Shall we?"

He got the door and she smiled at him in appreciation. She led him to an Audi.

"So what exactly do you do?" She asked as the car started moving

"I'm in export" He replied, using the standard procedure

"Wait, so you're an exporter and you're out at a rock festival looking for dance lessons?"

"Oh I'm just taking a little vacation" _That was close_. "What about you?"

"Apart from babysitting Jussi? I have small jobs here and there, cashier at a mall, waitress at a bar, whatever gets me the money, you know? What brings you to Turku though? Wouldn't something like Spain or Portugal be better for a vacation?"

"I like the cold" He decided to become more silent to prevent any more slip-ups.

Silence followed the next few minutes as Williams wondered what he would say to Emilia when he actually meets her. He had to get her talking about the ship, and what if she did not know anything about it? Plus he better thinking of a better excuse of meeting her. He did not come all the way to Finland to take ballet lessons.

By the time Zara pulled the car over in front of the dancing school he was at the evening before, he had nothing figured out. Zara led the way even though Williams had already been there. Williams rushed to get the door for Zara, to which she smiled polite at him for.

The blonde girl from yesterday was still there, and she was still pressing keys on her phone.

"Hey Liisa" Zara said

"Hey Zara" The girl replied, barely looking up and still paying Williams no attention.

Zara led Williams up the stairs where he looked a few more pictures of Emilia, although these were much younger pictures of her. It was clear that this girl was born to dance. The youngest of the pictures was of Emilia, no more than eight years old, in a ballet costume, holding flowers, smiling with a medal in hand.

As they approached the top of the stairs, Williams could hear footsteps moving in synchronization, and a voice in Finnish giving instructions. He was pretty sure it was Emilia, the silky voice suited the face he recognized.

The top of the stairs led to a waiting room, but Zara simply opened the transparent door and Williams followed her.

Emilia was dressed in what one would expect a dance instructor to be wearing, simple, comfortable garments with long skirts. There were four young women and two men who were taking her lessons. Williams could tell they were no beginners, but neither were they professionals. Emilia looked up and waved at Zara, not even noticing Williams.

"She should be done in a few minutes" Zara whispered, taking off her coat. Williams took the coat, but did not know where to put it.

"Don't try too hard to be a gentleman" She joked as she took her coat back and lay it on an empty seat, and Williams felt a sudden rush of idiocy.

They sat and watch as Emilia led the class to a cool down. She always seems to be smiling, even more now that the lesson was nearing its end. She started what Williams could guess was a casual conversation with her students as they went through stretches. He could hear the word "Ruisrock" pop up once or twice, yet she still managed to smile even though her experience last night meant she did not get to stick around and enjoy the rock festival at all. Few of the students eyed Williams, as they were probably familiar with Zara, but it was only a short glance. Williams pretended to be looking around, even though the dance studio was relatively empty. Emilia continued the conversation with her students as they some of them began changing, others grabbing their shoes. The first of the students said her goodbye and left, then another. Emilia grabbed her towel and ran it over her face as the last of her students left. She was still smiling. She had a smile that never seemed to fade. Zara stood up and Williams followed. The two ladies exchanged a few words in Finnish, before Zara indicated Thomas and said a sentence that involved his name

"Hi, I'm Emilia" She greeted him with a strong European accent, which he found rather cute, although it made him wonder how someone with such a strong accent managed to get a job working as a translator for a navy ship.

"I'm Thomas"

"Are you feeling better?"

"Yes, thanks for getting me out of that last night"

"We should thank you too, you helped us"

Williams chuckled

"I suppose that makes us even. I'm guessing you ladies carried me to your place?" He asked, indicating Zara

"Yes, well the police got you into my car, then we got you to my place" Zara replied and Williams could sense a problem here that Zara was clearly the more talkative one. He was not going to get any information in a setting like this, and an awkward silence has already taken over the conversation.

"So… umm… Thomas. You're interested in taking Emilia's ballet lessons?" Zara asked

"Right. I'm a total beginner though. I wasn't born to be a dancer like you" He was not lying. They never taught him this stuff.

"That's rubbish. I don't believe in such a thing as a bad dancer." Emilia finally spoke, her enthusiasm still brimming "and because of what you did last night, I can give you free lessons!"

"Now you're the one talking rubbish! How about I treat both of you for dinner tonight?" That was a stupid thing to ask, he immediately realized, getting Zara involved in all this only makes things more complicated.

"Treating us? I don't want you to feel… compelled?" Emilia finally spoke, stuttering with her English and questioning her own use of the last term

"I don't feel compelled. Do you?"

"No"

"Good. So what's for dinner?"

The girls looked at each other with a "I'm fine with anything" look, then Zara spoke

"What sounds good for you?"  
"Anything but Reindeer Stew"

Emilia had another class, and it was only 4:30 PM. Zara had to pick up her nephew, and Williams had to go back to Ruissalo to get his car. Zara quickly drew him a map of where the intended place was. It was a restaurant parallel to the street where Williams' hotel was located, so it should not take too long.

"I'll send you to the bus stop and you should get from there to Ruissalo easily. Let's go." Zara said, before saying goodbye to Emilia in Finnish

"I'll see you in a few hours, Emilia"  
"See you then, Thomas" They shared a traditional cheek to cheek kiss. Only then did Williams realize how soft her skin was.

Zara dropped him off at a bus stop and gave him the directions. Williams hopped onto a relatively empty bus and took a window seat as he took in the beautiful landscape. Is such a beautiful country and he would not mind retiring to here, that is, of course, if he lives to see his retirement. The last few days have really taken its toll on him. He has had trouble sleeping. Everywhere he looked, the ghost of Thomas Bleeck stared back at him. Every time he closed his eyes, the image of Natalie, which he imagines is at home somewhere in Australia, sobbing over a picture of her deceased boyfriend, haunts him. Every time he lays his eye on his gun, he sees Julia Harrison's corpse falling slowly into the Thames. As the bus turned in to the conference center, Williams spotted his car amongst the very few still left behind. He got off the bus and in to his car. Thankfully the payment for the parking was one-off so he did not have to pay extra, despite parking overnight.

On the way back to his hotel, he forced himself to think of Emilia, at least to keep Bleeck off his head. He found himself in a rather awkward situation. How would he actually get any information off her? What if she turns out to be working for whoever was responsible for the missing submarine?

_Damn! _He thought suddenly, reminded of her in the ballet class. _She's actually quite hot._

As his car pulled in to the parking lot of the hotel, Williams found himself looking forward for dinner time to arrive, but time did not seem to fly. It was only five and they were not supposed to meet until six-thirty. Instead of taking a shower for the first time in a day, he decided he might as well get down and dirty before taking a shower. He entered his room, took off the clothes Zara gave him before slipping on his most casual clothes and shoes.

Williams looked out the window and made a mental map of his route. He had another self debate regarding the gun and decided to stick with his promise and slipped the gun into his pocket.

The air that greeted him was already enough to tame a flaming fire, but it was the wind that really got him shivering. Williams considered going back to get a jacket, but decided not to, in order to give himself more motivation.

He started along the route that he planned and picked up speed until his footsteps were in a rhythm he knew he was comfortable with. After three minutes, the wind stopped bothering him as the dryness kicked in. He has not considered this. The dryness slowly built up from inside his lungs, up his throat and into his mouth. After five minutes, he was gasping for air and let out several dry coughs. His legs were not even exercised and he was far from sweating, but he had to slow down and find a vending machine at a street corner where he got a drink. He ignored his training and took in the entire bottle without a break.

By the time he got jogging again, pain began to build up from his stomach, a result of the water. He quickly regretted drinking so quickly and decided that his routine had just been defeated by the Finnish weather and slowly walked back to the hotel. He did not want to show up at dinner looking like a wreck, especially in front of her.

He entered his room and immediately took a much-needed warm shower before slipping on an open-necked white shirt, covered with a black dinner jacket and matching black trousers. He put on his holster before taking his gun from under his pillow and slipping it on. He looked at his watch. It was almost 6. They were supposed to meet in half an hour and the restaurant was virtually a ten minute walk. So Williams turned on the television and sat on his bed. After flipping through channel after channel of Finnish TV, he decided to give up. Taking a nap was pointless as he had just slept through most of his day, but he knew that if he continued laying there, the thoughts of his first, and to date, only, two kills would come into his head.

Williams grabbed his watch and put it on, slipped his wallet and his mobile phone into this pocket. He grabbed a coat and left his room, dying to speed up the clock. He wanted this dinner to arrive as quickly as possible. At first he thought it was because the silence and loneliness would predictably conjure up the thought of the past few days, but then when he thought of Emilia's lovely face it hit him.

He couldn't wait to see her.


End file.
